Let Sparks Fly
by ShibaInuit
Summary: Spark, before he becomes the beloved Team Instinct leader, meets a band of thieves. Will he trust his instincts, or will he crumble under the pressure? One shot about Spark's bond with his first Pokemon, a Fearow named "Mr. Butterfly." Rated T for graphic violence. Characters from Pokemon Go, owned by Niantic, Nintendo, and The Pokemon Company International.


"Hand over your bag, son, now!"

Black clad warriors surrounded him. Each one bore an R insignia, marked in blood red. Their smiles were beyond predatorial, already gloating over an easy victory.

Spark was, after all, the son of a famous researcher. He was bound to have something good on his person, some rarity or valuable that the globally renowned Professor Willow was planning to market soon.

"But... I like my bag. It's got candy in it. Oh! I know. Would you like to share some candy?"

Spark eagerly held out a handful of multicolored sweets, all circular, like jawbreakers.

"Those aren't for people," someone in the background murmured in disgust.

"Sure kid, hand 'em all over, and the whole bag while you're at it."

Spark bunched himself together like a coiled snake while the crew advanced, red Pokè Balls at their fingertips, itching to strike.

"Hey, stop. If you come any closer..."

"You'll what, huh? Got anything in that bag to run us off?"

Spark stopped shivering, feeling himself radiate confidence.

"Yeah. My Fearow!"

There was a ripple of raucous laughter. Spark kept going anyway.

"My Fearow was my first Pokemon. We have an iron strong bond, so you should be afraid! He's the best bird in the whole wide world. He always comes when I call him and... you'll never defeat our team!"

While Spark continued monologuing, a few of the grunts looked between each other. Who gives a Fearow to a ten year old, anyway?

"That's it! I'm warning you one last time!" Spark held an ordinary ball aloft in midair, as tall as his arm could lift it.

"One... Two-"

An agent grabbed at Spark's arm, keeping his wrist in a death grip. "For real, listen, kid-"

The Pokè ball clanged against the ground, rolling away, unopened. Spark wriggled around, totally unaware that his lifeline was stationary and... empty.

"I CHOOSE YOU," He shouted, damaging the man's ear drums.

A shadow appeared from above the small crowd.

Everyone's hair stood on end. People in the back could smell waves of ozone as a shadow engulfed the group. Spark grinned proudly, his faith and devotion proving true as ever.

"Meet Mr. Butterfly!"

A caw that shook the trees got the attention of the entire group. In a fell swoop, the bird seized the man holding Spark, using its beak to fling the victim skyward. The agents immediately began to scramble away while Spark picked up the rolling Poké ball. He put it back in his inventory.

Mr. Butterfly caught the airborne agent by the wrist, again with its beak. He used his talons to hold firmly to the wriggling and screeching center, pulling up with the beak in the way one would tug at a piece of stubborn jerky. A crunch, and then it started raining. Spark wiped a bit of red off of his face, holding his ears and whistling.

The crowd of agents had dispersed into the trees, and without their leader, were going to devolve into a mass of bad decisions. Mr. Butterfly tossed his victim several yards out, and there was a clunking noise as it landed on a tree trunk and rolled out.

Something landed just behind Spark. A grunt puked up his breakfast.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" Spark said, turning to face the man un-digesting.

"Oh! You're sick. Mr. Butterfly, should we take him to see a doctor? He could have a stomach virus." Spark approached the man, even as the others backed away on all fours.

Spark crawled to the man's height, turning around to get a view of his back. His "patient" was paralyzed with fear, hardly daring to move beyond watching sour bile leave his throat in disgusting chunks.

"Let me help." Spark began rubbing the man's back. Mr. Butterfly landed in the center of the clearing, showers of electricity slowly controlling themselves into a tight aura. Protectively facing his trainer, he pecked at the ground, as if looking for food.

The man's heaving redoubled as Zapdos crunched something fleshy in its beak. Fingers and blood sprayed everywhere.

"Oh, Mr. Butterfly! You can't eat that, it will make you sick," Spark said, giving his patient one last comforting rub before approaching his Pokemon.

Mr. Butterfly nodded, spitting up the remains in a clump, and pecking around more. Spark laughed, sounding loud, manly.

"Here you go, big guy."

Spark handed the bird a yellow and black jawbreaker. The bird took it, swallowed it in a single, gentle nibble, and brayed at its master. He ran a hand over his pride and joy's stomach, feeling a tingle up his arm.

"Anybody else hungry? Oh, I was gonna save this for later, but now's a good time! I brought a picnic!"

He was pulling out a bundle from his bag when he remembered the ill grunt.

"I forgot! You can't eat right after you get ill. Come on, Mr. Butterfly, let's get this man to help. Picnic after."

The agent, who had ceased his reliable spewing, was in tears, eyes wide, on the verge of a scream. His allies had deserted him.

Spark knelt, and the man did scream.

"Wow, you must be really hurt, sir. Do you have a psychic Pokemon to teleport you home?"

He didn't move. Nobody approached Spark or his patient.

"Then I guess we'll have to fly you to a Pokemon center. You could be really hurt. Grab my hand, come on."

Zapdos clutched the man in its talons, disregarding Spark's offer. Claws tore into the skin. Spark seemed not to notice. He had already leapt astride his feathered friend.

They took to the sky, soaring well above the tree tops and skimming a few low clouds before settling into an easier pace at a low altitude. Zapdos made sure its main rider was comfy.

"Mr. Butterfly, do you see that cloud?"

A caw resounded.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too." Spark pulled out a squarish device, snapping a photo.

"It's totally shaped like a poop!"

Spark collapsed into giggles as Zapdos gave its own version of a chuckle, nearly sending the agent flying. In a few more wing beats, they landed hard, squishing the man's ribs in. Zapdos took several steps away before kneeling to let her charge dismount. Spark pulled a Poké ball from his backpack.

"Thank you, Mr. Butterfly! Now, return!"

Spark smiled a wide smile, a smile so wide that his eyes squinted up and he failed to see his favorite friend fly away.

He opened his eyes and closed the ball in his hand. With a grin he replaced the ball and took a stroll farther along the deserted street.

Story completed in 2016, Posted 2016

A/N

A dog sits in an igloo. It woofs! You peer around the igloo. There is a stove top, currently cooking a bowl of instant ramen. The dog is bundled tightly in a t-shirt, zipper hoodie, and pajama pants, as well as two thick blankets and a quilt. There's a spare blanket for you!

The dog offers you a marshmallow. You accept, sitting on a small throw pillow, joining in the snuggly vigil.

"This is an old fanfiction," the dog says, "but not the oldest one I'm going to post."

"You speak?! Whoa!" You say.

"Well, I should hope so, that's an important corollary to understanding language."

You are rendered speechless, because the wifi here is somehow phenomenal. What country are you two even in? Are you actually on your home planet? What's outside the igloo?

"Questions for another day, my human bean friend! Ciao~"

The world fades. What was in that marshmall...

zZzZzZzZzZzZ.


End file.
